


One Night in Hungary

by lost_evenings



Series: A Rush of Blood is Not Enough [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Escort Service, Friendship/Love, I don't know how escort services work, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, just go with it, mention of Armie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_evenings/pseuds/lost_evenings
Summary: Timmy is filming The King in Hungary and is lonely so a friend hires an escort for him.





	One Night in Hungary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ariasheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariasheart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Coming Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941387) by [lookingforatardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis), [NiciJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones). 



> I think this is subconsciously inspired by a small scene in chapter 10 of Coming Home, which is an amazing work and you should all definitely go read that!

Timmy had been on edge for months. Exhausted and drained from work, from being away from home, from his friends, from the people who truly knew him...from Armie. He was lonely. He’d been alone before, that wasn’t anything new, but this feeling of isolation, of abandonment in a way, this was something he wasn’t used to. This loneliness. He longed for that feeling of being completely at ease around another individual, with no pretense or need to be anything other than himself. 

He was also horny as fuck. He hadn’t had sex in months. He knew he’d never have Armie they way he wanted, the way he desired. He’d spent so much emotional and mental energy fantasizing about something that would never happen, that he had closed himself off from the prospect of any type of relationship, from any intimate physical contact with another person.

He had tried, for a time, to push past his attraction to his best friend by distracting himself with a series of hookups and somewhat seedy encounters. It worked. For awhile. Until it didn’t. 

In the end, he was left feeling empty and wanting and insecure. Wondering why it never turned into anything more than a one-time thing, like in so many stories and movies about finding love out of the most unlikely of circumstances. Why didn’t that happen in real life? Why had he thought it would happen to him? Why didn’t someone want him for more than a quick blowjob or fuck? Why didn’t Armie want him? Oh, right...because he’s married, and straight, and totally not into you. 

So he had stopped. He had stopped going to parties and clubs, he had stopped flirting with random guys in random places, he deleted Grindr and Tinder from his phone. 

And for awhile it helped. He was able to focus on himself and his work and not think about how much he still wanted Armie to put him on his knees and push his cock so far into his throat that he almost lost consciousness. But that lack of physical closeness, coupled with everything else, was starting to take its toll. At home, in New York, it was easy to busy himself with everyday tasks and distract his mind with friends and family. But here in Europe? His mind and thoughts were turning on him, the physical need driving him to distraction, and it was starting to affect his work. 

So, when a friend had first suggested it and offered to make the arrangements (and even pay for it - an early birthday present she’d said), he’d put up a pretense of being offended. But, the idea lingered, and the more he thought on it, the more it made sense, the more intrigued he became, the more he wanted to say, “Yes, go ahead, do it.” And eventually he’d acquiesced. 

And now he was sitting in his hotel room, in the middle of Europe, the sun just beginning to set, waiting for the phone to ring, for the call from the front desk letting him know he had a visitor. 

He took another drink from the glass in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. The liquor was starting to soothe his nerves a bit, gliding across his tongue and down his throat. His lips were tingling, and he couldn’t help but draw them between his teeth, gnawing gently, imagining the feel of someone else’s mouth on his, someone else’s teeth biting into his swollen lips. 

Fuck. He was nervous. And excited. Why the hell had he agreed to this? Oh right....sex. And the decidedly certain prospect of this not leading to anything other than what it was. The innate easiness of the situation helped to quell his apprehension.

For the umpteenth time that night, he pulled up the app on his phone and found the profile of the guy who would soon be in his hotel room, who would soon be his, and stared at the photo. 

A casual pose against a windowsill belied something darker, more mysterious...dominant. Tall, lean and muscled, a myriad of tattoos peeking out from underneath the short sleeves of a crisp, white t-shirt, dark jeans fitting perfectly over seemingly taut thighs, work boots that were meant for actual work and not just as a fashion statement. A thick, full beard covered the lower half of his face; hair, almost black in appearance, was coiffed atop his head in a way that was reminiscent of an urban lumberjack. A septum piercing, barely visible, sparked Timmy’s imagination and had him wondering what other parts of this man’s body had been modified in such a way. Dark eyes peered back at him through the small screen, with an intensity that stirred something deep within him, something akin to a promise of a night of pleasure. 

Lost in his reverie, he was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts when the phone rang. He answered it hesitantly, still slightly unsure if he wanted to go through with this. The person at the other end said the young gentleman he’d been expecting was on his way up. 

Timmy thanked her, put down the phone, and made one last attempt to reign in his nerves. He could do this. It was just for one night, and he knew nothing would happen that he didn’t want to happen. He was in control of the situation… after all, he was the customer, and wasn’t the customer always right?

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. 

Timmy set the glass down on the end table next to the couch, straightened out his shirt and rubbed his hands down his jean-clad thighs to rid them of any lingering sweat, before making his way to the door. He looked through the peephole, took one last steadying breath, and turned the handle.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and suggestions welcome!!
> 
> Series title comes from "I Dare You" by The XX


End file.
